


Finishing School

by Serenhawk



Series: The Cockles Digest [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Fluff, Headcanon, Ice Play, Jensen POV, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/pseuds/Serenhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is in Misha-withdrawal, but as a distraction he decides to let his best friend in on the existence of their new arrangement. Then when Misha does arrive in Vancouver, their reunion doesn't quite follow the script he had in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finishing School

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trampanya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trampanya/gifts).



> This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to the people whose names are used.
> 
> The succinct prompt for this from my lovely TTT, was 'More of Jensen's feelings, and Porn!'  
> Some Dom/sub happened, oops.
> 
> Thanks to Emmyloo03 my other twin for feedback.
> 
> In honour of Cockles Week 2014. Which should be every week.

 

 

Even to himself he was embarrassed to admit it, but Jensen was a little giddy. Tomorrow was the last day of filming the current episode, and that meant Misha would be arriving for shooting the one that followed. Nothing noteworthy about this fact of course, other than it had been several weeks since his colleague and more-than-friend had last been in Vancouver and Jensen was beginning to suffer significant and incessant Misha Collins withdrawal.  Thankfully the extent it made him feel nine kinds of pathetic was bested by the eager warmth the prospect filled him with.

He’d only seen him in L.A at the weekend, but that had been with their respective families for a casual lunch at Misha and Vicki’s, and while they were all  _somewhat_ at ease sharing time and company in light of their new ‘understanding’, it wasn’t the same as being alone together – something he now found himself craving at random (and frequently inappropriate) moments.

It had been made all the worse for the not-quite-platonic brushes against each other four long days ago, and a small but ultimately tormenting transgression when his friend happened to be walking down the hall as he was coming out of the bathroom; Misha had stopped dead and pulled one of his stupidly endearing scrunched-up faces that meant Jensen had no choice (he'd hastily reasoned) but to grab his arm, pull him into the room and shut the door. He’d felt more than a little guilty about it with the girls so nearby, but only for the half-second it took to pull Misha to him at the waist, slide his palms into his friend’s back pockets and say a gritty “Hey” accompanied by his most blinding smile. Misha had tried (and failed) to frown back at him, but let out a little ( _not_ at all a turn-on) capitulating growl as he’d tugged on Jensen’s shirt front and leaned to touch their noses together. They should have left it there of course, but since Jensen was feeling deprived of one of his new favorite pastimes he’d turned it in into a kiss, barely managing to keep it sweet and light as it dragged on. He’d hummed in defeat as he’d pulled away when his underwear suddenly got uncomfortably tight - his brain still hadn’t gotten used to having that kind of instantaneous and undeniable reaction to one of his friends, whereas his body was evidently a-freaking-okay with it. As was Misha, given the self-satisfied smirk he gave him as he turned around to go.

It had only been a couple of months since he and Misha had embarked on this _thing,_ and they were still in the discovery phase of what it was and how it worked. But he’d grown very quickly to cherish their time alone in the north, just the two of them doing nothing in particular, even if it was for just a few hours at a time. It wasn’t something that happened very often due to their hours and workload, much to their mutual disappointment. Dean and Castiel were spending a lot of time apart this season (there had been some joking that L.A. were keeping them apart until they figured out what the fuck to do with them when they were together), which meant they were often working odd hours with opposing schedules or in different locations. But at least there had been a few evenings or long lie-ins following a night spent together where they got a handful of hours to themselves. Once they even won the lottery and both had an entire afternoon off, which Jensen can only recall in a blurred montage of wrestling and laughter, filtered sunshine and white sheets, and luxurious dozing punctuated by mouths and heat and wet and significant full body stubble-burn.

So far, outside of each other little was changed or affected. It had almost seemed too easy. At work - which had proven to be not half as problematic as he expected - they were just themselves, give or take the odd hand run down the other’s back or furtive crossing-the-line teasing in trailers. On the whole though, it worked best (not to mention safer, in Jensen’s opinion) if they simply drew a line at the gate and kept the more personal side of their relationship from crossing it.

When they were with their families they were careful not to overplay their hand, since all of them were somewhat tentatively feeling their way through the new situation. They made an effort to keep casual and respectful, and the subject of  _them_ never came up on the rare occasions when the four of them happened to be around each other. Sure it had felt pretty weird at first being in the same room as his wife and Misha, but surprisingly it had soon given way to being the complete opposite of weird. In fact, it gave him warm fuzzies in places he never thought he could feel them. But on the whole, as they'd discussed, the obvious conclusion was that friendship would and should always be their ‘MO’ no matter where or who they were with, including each other. What they’d found with each other on top of that was just a miraculous and private bonus.

What they had barely touched on were any definition of what the thing between them was. For Jensen’s part he was happy to let it be this organic entity they let unfurl, without rules or expectations. Part of this he attributed to them both being prudent, cautiously testing the waters as they went. When he was with Misha it all seemed disconcertingly natural, but it had taken him a certain amount of personal adjustment to get his head around having intense emotional _and_ physical responses to the man. Misha had asked him about it on several occasions, always responding with a sly smile when Jensen explained that he was okay and not about to freak out over it, even though he had once or twice. Sure he’d had the odd dude-crush, and bromances were kind of his thing, but this had taken it to a level which had definitely challenged some of his self-perceptions and assumptions.

Likewise the whole multiple relationship thing; Misha and Vicki’s experiments with marital elastic boundaries aside, it was complicated. They were all friends, they worked together and there were the kids. He and Danneel had really hit their stride, and then had come a baby which is enough of a game-changer to relationship dynamics on it’s own. So, while they’d slipped into this new arrangement with a remarkable lack of drama, it was fair to say they were all treading lightly.

Where they weren’t treading so lightly however, was with what they felt. It wasn’t overt or spoken so Jensen could really only infer what his friend was experiencing, but for his part since that moment only a matter of a few weeks past when he’d let go of the safety rope tethering him to what he’d accepted as the limit their friendship, Jensen had found himself tumbling down a rabbit hole of emotion he couldn’t have predicted. Whatever they were in, he was in deep.

He guessed he had been all along, one way or another, but now the horse was out of the gate it had decided to fuck the confines of the race track and was off on an adventure into uncharted territory, and he didn’t know the way back.

He held onto the reigns (hey, he was from Texas, he can use all the horse analogies he wants) too tight in life sometimes, he knew that, and was adept at making it appear like he didn’t. Including how he loved - he’d always kept a part of himself back. He considered it a defect of sorts, and he’d done enough self-analysis to know it was borne of a homogenization of various insecurities and fears of loss. But had come to accept it as part of who he was and tried to make up for it with his actions towards whom he did love. With Misha though, it was like taking a drug he didn’t know he needed and he felt freed in a way he’d never experienced. He forgot himself, and just ‘felt’ without regulation or bridling, and for him it was all new. It occurred to him it should have been frightening, and if he paused to reflect on it, it was. Especially when he still hadn’t put a label on why or what _t_ _he Misha thing_ was. But, so far, he’d never once felt unsafe either.

Interestingly, despite the intensity that threatened to swallow him some moments, he didn’t _need_ Misha every day - it was not some new addiction as he’d wondered suspiciously it might be during the first few weeks. All the ways Misha had made him react before by virtue of just existing were somehow evened out and less frenetic. There had always been a slight but permanent edginess that made him feel off-kilter whenever he was around or even just aware of his friend. But now he no longer held it at arm’s length it had pacified into an enticing disorientation. One side-effect being that Misha could probably do or ask anything of Jensen and he wouldn’t think twice about it; it was almost as if something primal within him willed his friend to push him and unfold him, intrigued by his own malleability and responsiveness.

Okay, so Misha had had an effect on him for… well _always_ , and all of these sensations were not new. But how he was experiencing them definitely was.

Another thing he'd begun to wryly note, was how they couldn’t _not_ touch each other. He’d always known they did, but he hadn’t realized how _much_ they did until they were alone and had no outward or self-imposed constraints, at which point they were rarely not in some point of contact, whether it be smiling eyes or toes under the table or draped over each other in some way. Dialing it back again to the publicly acceptable quota meant frequent assessment on how much was too much (or too little) for their ‘normal’. And being overly conscious of it meant he now knew just how often they’d always subtly brushed, leaned, hugged, caressed, shoved, poked, grazed, tapped, patted or flat-out stroked each other like fucking cats. How’d they’d gotten away with it and how it hadn’t been a freaking neon sign to either of them before they’d gotten their shit together, he didn't know. It wasn't a hunger in the sense they _had_ to be close; more just a natural consequence of their sometimes conspicuous proximity issues. At least now they were ‘a thing’ they could indulge all they wanted to, as private opportunities together allowed.

But fuck, he couldn't _imagine_ what his folks would have to say about it if they were aware, or most in their lives when it came down to it. Their partners were still the only ones that knew and he and Misha were happy to keep it that way for as long as they could. But Jensen felt that it was time he let Jared in on it and had told Misha as much – for the reason he asserted, given how close they all had to be, that he didn't want Jared to work it out for himself, or worse, catch them in some compromising moment. But privately he also wanted to share; after all, having a secret that fills you with a new-found wonderment is usually the kind of thing you want to spill to your best friend, and while Jared was possibly the absolute worst person to share this particular secret with, he was also the one who knew him the best and would probably most appreciate how it was changing him.

Which is how he found himself with Jared, after partaking of some truly excellent Thai take-out and with a glass in hand, trying to nail down an opener to the topic of him and Misha.

There was the off-hand and matter-of-fact ‘by the way I’m in a relationship with Misha’. It would be perfectly accurate but hardly a crowd-pleaser. However the alternatives weren't grabbing him either; ‘By the way I’m in love with Misha,’ sounded melodramatic, and imagining saying that it made him feel like he was in an episode of day-time television. Besides, leading with his emotions about something so incredibly private also made him feel altogether too exposed, even though it was his best friend. And anyway, did he _really_ just say that out loud in his head? _Shit_. Moving on…

He could say simply ‘I’m sleeping with Misha”, which was true; they slept in the same bed when they could, which wasn’t that often in practice, and not as often as Jensen would have liked. He’d grown surprisingly used to falling asleep comfortably spooned with prickly kisses being deposited across his back, and was even okay with waking up to being thoroughly cataloged by tender denim-blue eyes.

Or, he could say ‘guess what, I’m fucking Misha’, just for the satisfaction of seeing the look on Jared’s face. It had the potential to be effing hilarious, and the rare opportunity to shock his best friend was tempting. In saying that there was a good chance Jared simply wouldn’t believe him, and rightly so since they weren’t _technically_ fucking. Not because they’d consciously chosen not to, it was more that it hadn't, well,  _come up_. So far they’d been quite content with the quiet intimacy they’d discovered: hugging, exploring, tasting… and yes, a fair bit of rutting and jacking each other off as well.

He supposed they would probably get to it and it’s not like it made him squeamish – he’d had tongue and the odd finger back there before, and he’d been offered and tempted by the back door on occasion, and Misha’s teasing tongue was becoming a regular and welcome visitor. He didn’t consider himself prudish but it seemed significant, and okay maybe he was a _little_ hesitant. But the sad fact was, all too often when they _were_ able to be together one or both of them would be so damn tired that falling into bed, reacquainting with a cuddle (and he’d be fucked if he was going to tell Jared they cuddled), some lethargic making-out (to shut Misha up, he’d tell himself) and fondling and generally finding peace in their immediacy after the day was all they required before falling into a dead sleep. They both worked long days and were fathers with babies and had numerous commitments, so it was all very old married couple in practice; the two of them sitting in bed with a morning coffee wearing reading glasses (if maybe nothing else) scrolling through the news didn’t seem worthy of the fan fantasies at all, but it suited them. In fact it felt right; it was easy and comfortable and he kind of liked the unhurried discovery and coziness of their extra-curricular cocoon.

In saying that, it wasn’t exactly unusual to end up horny and find themselves grinding together, palming each other’s cocks until they came, or exploring and teasing, learning and testing their respective triggers and stages of arousal. They had been putting their mouths to good use; Misha seemed particularly fond of wrapping his lips around Jensen, and did he mind? Not one fucking bit.

The first time Misha had sucked him until he came spilling generously at the back of his friend’s throat, before being licked clean then kissed and the taste of himself swirled around his mouth, it had been mesmerizing in a way it wasn't usually.  He didn’t really know if that was because a) a guy is more attuned to the intricacies of the perfect blowjob, or b) the overall different physicality of being with someone who matched him in size and strength and wasn’t the least bit delicate with him whilst still being reverent, or c) it was just some freakish quality pertaining to Misha. Whatever the formula, he’d sulk if he had to give it up now.

He’d licked Misha too a few times, secretly loving the noises his friend made, and hearing his name ground out in desperation or adoration helped him get over any last reticence he might have had. It was Misha, and hearing him plead was insanely and inexorably motivating.

So much of this whole unforeseen circumstance came down to that simple premise: it was Misha.

Well, he wasn’t going to tell Jared any of that. _Nobody_ would ever hear any of that. Danneel would be the only one who he’d consider sharing with, if she wanted him too. But so far she hadn’t asked, (not even as little dirty talk) and although he’d never deny her, he was grateful this was the case. It was, in truth, one of the nicest things about having this _thing_ with Misha; despite their somewhat public friendship, the speculation, jokes and stories imagining them together, what they _actually_ had together was one hundred percent private.

So why was he wanting to tell Jared again? He briefly reconsidered the wisdom of the idea, but yeah, he wanted his best friend to know that he had this amazing and unexpected thing happening in his life. And, the last thing he wanted was for him to find out by catching them out. They’d been discreet, he’d thought, but a recent near miss had finally decided the point for him.

It had happened when Misha was last at work and they’d had some downtime between set-ups following a particularly taxing afternoon with a guest director who was trying things that were never going to work, in his scantily humble opinion. It was late in the day and he’d been laying down resting his eyes in his trailer when Misha had wandered in and unceremoniously flopped down next to him; a consequence of their usual gravitational pull Jensen had dismissed with a shrug at the time, not unhappy about it. But then Jared had bowled in uninvited five minutes later, which wasn’t an unusual event given that there was probably nothing that Jensen could have been doing that Jared hadn’t already walked in on before, except maybe when he’d been sharing a pillow with Misha. They hadn’t been _doing_ anything, although maybe he was turned on his side, idly studying the rise and fall of his friend’s chest as he relaxed, and just possibly he’d been about to scoot a little closer to pay Misha back for the (albeit welcome) intrusion by assaulting his ear with his tongue, but he _hadn’t_ , thankfully.

Nonetheless Jared’s “Hey, Jen?’ as he skipped up the steps followed by an unsure “Uhh…hey,” as he’d rounded the corner, accompanied by Jensen sitting bolt upright had told enough of a story. Misha, being Misha, had just lain there like he belonged and muttered “Hey,” back, and Jensen still didn’t know if that had made the scene appear more or less incriminating, like it was no big deal no matter how it was interpreted. They were often observed unnaturally close, but they weren’t usually horizontal when this occurred.

“What’s up?” he’d asked his visitor, internally wincing at the note of caution in his own voice.

Jared had answered with a casual “Nothin, just wanted to have a yarn after that crap back there and came to see what you’re up to.”

“By all means, join the party,” Misha had grumbled, eyes firmly shut and sounding slightly piqued at having his doze interrupted, to which Jared had answered somewhat dubiously “Umm, not sure if this qualifies as a party.” But then he’d made himself comfortable and they’d passed the next half hour without any further indication that his best friend was second guessing them. So he’d brushed it off. Almost.

Either way, he considered it a foregone conclusion that Jared should know, so the moment wasn’t too soon as far as he was concerned. It was almost as if his friend was riding his train of thought when he cleared his throat, promptly putting the brakes on Jensen’s reflections.

“You look happy,” Jared declared with a smirk.

“I’m okay,” he confirmed, a small smile of his own sidling uninvited onto his face.

You’re certainly a lot happier now than you were a few months back. It’s quite noticeable J,” his friend observed gently.

He nodded and let his eyes fall out of focus.“Yeah, it should be, I guess. Was a tough stretch for a while. And thanks, by the way, for having my back,” he said sincerely.

“Always, you know that.” Jared paused, before arching an eyebrow. “Misha back tomorrow?”

“I guess so.” He was trying for off-hand but could sense his goddamn face betray him, his mouth twisting up to one side. Shit, good food, three drinks and being stupidly and secretly besotted, and he turns into a transparent idiot. It’s not like he, you know, acted for a living or anything.

Jared was looking at him. With a capital L. He began to wish he hadn’t had that last bourbon, some clarity wouldn’t go amiss. A bouquet of emotions sat uncomfortably in his stomach: uncertainty, chagrin, excitement, and something silly that makes him feel like a fucking twelve year old girl all had him wriggling in his seat.

He cast a glance at his friend, who may as well have been tapping his foot for all the expectant vibes he was giving off. Fucking Jared with his annoying habit of looking right into his brain. Right, let’s do this…ahh fuck. Deep breath.

“Yeah, about Misha—“

Jared lifted his chin. “Hmm?”

“I should probably tell you something…  ah, I _want_ to tell you something.” He fiddled with his glass, running a fingertip through the condensation on the outside.

Jared lifted a leg and placed his ankle across the opposite knee before leaning back. Asshole was making himself comfortable, Jensen noted. Fuckkit, he definitely knew something was up.

When he spoke however, it was with softness. “What is it, Jen?”

He hesitantly side-eyed Jared before taking an interest in his glass again. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but something… happened, between us, and we kinda have this… _thing,_ going on.” He was being vaguer than he should have been considering it was his best friend he was confessing to, and whom he knew only had his best interests at heart. But there was also no precedent for this, and once the cat was out of the bag that was it, no going back.

“Thing?” Jared coaxed.

“Yeah, a thing.”

Part of him still simply didn’t know what to call it - it didn’t have a name. But he also had to get something out of this, and having his friend on the edge of his seat (even a little) was satisfying.

“You going to elaborate, or do I have to wrestle it out of you? Literally.”

Jensen shot him a shy look. “Well, you know how… umm, close we’ve become, over the years?”

Jared was looking back at him like he’d said he was retiring to make a living out of making macramé and home-made preserves. Okay, maybe that was a slight understatement.

“So we’ve sort of ended up… in a relationship.”

Jared blinked. “Relationship?” he quizzed.

“Yeah." He took a deep breath. "This is really hard to explain, ‘cause I still don’t know how to explain it to myself,” he said honestly.

Jared frowned thoughtfully before changing tack for him. “I had picked up a certain vibefrom you two, but I wasn’t sure… So you finally took the plunge huh?”

“Plunge? What plunge?” he asked, more indignantly than he wanted to sound.

His friend’s eyes danced. “You weren’t expecting me to be shocked by this were you?”

“Fuck you," he barked incredulously. "Of course I was… you mean you aren’t?”

“Well, I gotta say, I'm only shocked you had the balls to let ‘something happen’.”

He actually used goddamn air-quotes. His friend was not taking this with the gravitas he thought it deserved. The little shit couldn’t even treat his best friend’s sudden-onset gayness with respect. Fucking typical.

He must have looked put out because Jared continued earnestly. “I’m sorry. I am surprised, and…umm, concerned. And, well, _happy_ , if it’s a good thing for you. _Is_ it a good thing?”

His mood switched gears. “Yeah, it is. At least it feels like it,” he said sheepishly. It really did feel good. It certainly made him contented for reasons he’d yet to figure out. In fact he wasn’t sure they shouldn’t remain obscure, despite his natural inclination to define everything.

“Well okay then,” Jared replied with a grin, still looking at him pointedly.

“What?” Jensen asked back gruffly.

“Nothin’, just waiting for all the dirty details,” he said with a wink.

Jensen felt heat creep up the back of his neck. “There are no dirty details,” he said tersely, before deciding he could still have some fun. “Not ones I’m telling you anyway.”

Jared let out a humph. “Aww go on, isn’t that what friends are for?”

“Well, if you really wanna imagine me and Misha naked together, there was this one ti—“

“Ah, nope, on second thought, you’re right, I don’t need to know.” Jared was holding up a hand in protest. “So you do get naked huh?” he added with residual cheekiness.

“Mmm,” he offered, giving Jared a bemused shake of the head while wondering about how much he really wanted to volunteer. He decided to throw his friend a challenging look anyway.

“Uh-huh,” was the equally vague response. What Jared was thinking he could only guess. But didn’t wish to try.

They sized each other up, like they were trying to figure out if the news had created any shift between them. Not that it should, Jensen thought. They knew each other inside out. But, this was kind of out-there, and it involved the dynamics of all of them as friends, their wives included.

Jared’s train of thought must have been on a similar track. “So how does it work? I’m assuming Danni knows? She _does_ know, doesn’t she Jensen?” he asked, seriousness lowering his voice.

“Yeah of course, you know me better than that,” he returned, a little affronted.

A smile quirked at his friend’s mouth. “Yeah, but being in love can really mess up one’s judgement.”

Jensen grabbed a cushion from behind him and lobbed it firmly at Jared’s head, who only cackled. “So, it _is_ true love then…”

Jensen rolled his eyes before fixing them back firmly on his friend’s. “I don’t know what it is yet man,” he said honestly. “It’s just this… this… _th_ _ing_ we’ve somehow ended up in, and I guess we’re both just feeling our way through it. Well, all four of us are, when it comes to that.”

“All four? So is this like a kinky group thing?” Jared asked, eyes twinkling again.

“Ha! Absolutely not. Why, envious?” he inquired gaily in return.

“Yeah right, that would be, umm--" His friend shook his head like he was trying to dismiss an annoying fly. "Anyway you know I’m a one-at-a-time guy. Mind you, so were you… apparently anyone can change," Jared continued.

“Mmm, seems so,” he confirmed wryly. “Not to mention the fact Misha has facial hair and a penis,” he shot back, hoping for a reaction. “Which when one comes in contact with the other is surpris--”

“Oh thanks for that, you dick. More images I didn’t need.” Jared screwed up his face as he cut him off, before adding with a shrug, “Yeah, but, it’s Misha.”

Jensen let out a grumbling groan at the recurring truth in the those words. “That’s it, in a nutshell. I’ve learned to not try explaining it any more than that,” he said in a resigned tone.

“Mmm,” his friend agreed, as much as he could relate, which Jensen hoped wasn’t much in this instance. “So you said all four of you are adjusting… how does it work?

Jensen found his thoughts kept getting hijacked by emotions. “Well when we figured out there was a _thing_ there we needed to take further,” (they had to come up with some kind of name for it, he decided), “we told D and Vic, and once we had their okay, we’ve just kind of followed our noses.”

“That simple huh?” Jared asked skeptically.

“No, not really…and yet, it is simple when you're all honest with each other…” he shrugged. Jared just sat unmoved with a dubious expression. “Hey I’m surprised too, you know? But once Danni and I got through that first conversation, it all fell into place, and she’s been really, well… supportive.”

“Yeah? Umm…wow,” his friend commented, his forehead furrowing in several directions.

“You’re telling me,” he agreed. “I think it works ‘cause we keep it all separate, and nobody’s boundaries are encroaching on other’s. She’s my wife and will always come first, and she knows that. And Mish is a friend who I care bout in a…umm, unique way, and we’re lucky enough to get to explore that. There's no need for anyone to be jealous or insecure… and you know J, the most incredible thing happens,” he continued on a roll, the certainty crystallizing in his mind. “The more you open yourself up, to each other, and to what you can gain… the more freaking _love_ you feel. I’ve never been more in love with Danni than I am now…” He trailed off, a little overcome. He wasn't used to this much emoting. As himself anyway.

He swallowed and gathered his thoughts back. “Part of that’s because she’s gifted this...  _possibility_ to me. But I think being so open and, ahh, bare with each other has meant we feel… closer? Like we’ve reached some new level of understanding of who 'we' are. She even said to me the other day that she likes it, because when I’m with her I’m more ‘me’ now than I ever have, whatever that means. It’s… it’s trippy.

He looked at Jared, who was eyeing him with an expression that bordered between affection and ‘hold-on while I call the psych ward to see if they have a spare room’.

“What?” he asked with a huff.

“Nothin’,” his friend said back softly. “Just trying to decide if I need to get a box of tissues to cry into.”

Jensen just looked at the floor, still trying to pull back his emotions. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What the fuck for?” his friend asked mildly. “Given the state of you I can’t think how this could be a bad thing. I take it Misha and Vic are on the same page?”

“I guess so…but then those two are used to making their own rules.”

A long pause followed that they filled with finishing off their drinks.

“Well, I hope he takes care of you, otherwise I’ll break his arms off,” his friend said after a minute, utterly straight-faced.

Jensen barked out a laugh. “You know that makes me sound like the chick in it all, don’t you?”

“Well, are you?” he asked. “Naa, that’s another question you don’t need to answer,” he added, rolling his eyes and grimacing.

Jensen chuckled at the floor before throwing back the last few drops in his glass. He felt a lot more relaxed, concluding he’d made the right decision.

“So does he know you’re telling me?” Jared asked.

“Yeah, I cleared it with him.”

“Cleared it? You’re whipped already I see,” his friend smirked.

“Fuck you,” he smiled back. “Don’t make me regret telling you.”

“Ah, please don’t. I... I appreciate it. But can I make Misha regret _letting_ you tell me? ‘Cause I already have a bunch of ideas to tease him with,” his friend proposed with undisguised glee.

Poor Mish, he thought with a sigh. It was only a matter of time.

“I take no responsibility for what you do with this information,” he began blithely, “as long as no-one outside us know – you’re welcome to tell Gen, and the girls will probably like amusing themselves with it.” He squirmed a bit at the thought.

“Okay. She’d hate being the only one in the dark, so thanks. Does that mean Danneel and Vicki talk about it? Like, together?”

“Yeah, seems so. I don't hear the details, but I think they enjoy the camaraderie, strangely enough. And Vicki is a good sounding board.”

“Huh.” Jared pulled a thoughtful face as he pondered for a few moments. He checked his watch and abruptly unfolded himself from the couch. ‘Well I better hit the road, if that’s okay. Gen will be starting to complain.”

Jensen got up to join him at the door and was rewarded by a bear hug.

“So you really weren’t shocked?” he asked a little sullenly as he was let go.

Jared clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry brother,” he commiserated. “But I am proud of you, I never thought you’d figure out you had a crush, let alone give in to it.”

“Crush?” Jensen asked him with a frown.

“Well I don’t know how else to describe how smitten you look sometimes.”

He could feel the flush rising from his chest. “Shit, really? For how long?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

“Oh-- years,” his friend grinned back.

“Fuck.”

“Don’t worry, I'm sure not _too_  many have noticed. And it’s not like a shit-ton of the fans don’t already think you two are going at it like bunny-rabbits.”

Jensen gave up with a roll of his eyes. He was long past being defensive. “Yeah, our lives are fucked up sometimes huh?”

“Yup.” Jared began to turn towards the door, but Jensen felt it important to say one thing more.

“So, you’re okay with this, right? This won’t be weird at all? Do we have your blessing?” he finished with a smile, knowing how lame it sounded, despite the sentiment being sincere.

“Dude, as long as I never hear the word ‘topping’ in a conversation with either of you, we’re good,” he said back with fake sincerity. “You two have been skirting around each other for so long I think I’m more relieved than anything.”

He rolled his eyes before his friend added gently, catching him off guard. “This is real for you, isn’t it. You do…ya know, mean it.” It was more a statement than a question and Jensen was ninety-nine percent sure Jared shied away from using the ‘L word’ at the last second to save his embarrassment.

He looked his friend in the eye but screwed up his nose, not really trusting himself to voice the right answer. His friend just pulled him into another light hug. “Aww, my baby boy, all grown up,” Jared said in an exaggerated voice.

“Okay,” he said with feigned exasperation as he extricated himself. “Time for you to go home.”

Jared managed to get in a pat on top of his head before side-stepping Jensen’s attempt at shoving him out the doorway. He could hear the giggle echo down the hall and he closed the door. The breath he let out as he leaned against it was a contented one however.  An unexpected weight had gone.

He made the mistake of sitting back down on the couch, a mixture of relieved and flat after his conversation. It felt a little alien having his secret out in the open; not that it turned out it was that hidden, he acknowledged ruefully. God, it was still surreal when he thought about it - sometimes he found he still did a double-take on himself.

He’d made up his mind to get up and head to the shower when his phone buzzed beside him. ‘Speak of the devil’ he said out loud when he saw the message sender.

**Hey You. Evening flight in tomorrow. Hope you missed me.**

He could swear his insides physically curled up in a warm ball that pushed up against his heart. But he could at least pretend to play hard-to-get.

**> Maybe. **

He waited half a minute.

**In that case I’ll see you at work Friday. XX**

Well, I guess two could play at that game, he thought.

**> You better get your ass here tomorrow night or I’m never kissing it again, literally or metaphorically.**

He knew Misha had a weak spot for him using big words, but he could almost hear the school teacher’s tone in the reply

**Your manners leave a lot to be desired Ackles.**

He rolled his eyes.

**> Just do it.**

He waited for a few minutes but didn’t get an answer. Misha Collins didn’t really take to being bossed around, but he had _some_ faith in his own irresistibility by now, and the knowledge his friend would want to see him as much as he was looking forward to the same. Misha could play at getting grumpy, but he tended to end up more kitten than tiger.

He finally made it to the shower and had put himself to bed when his phone alerted him again. He picked it up off the bedside.

There were several messages waiting – one from Jared, which he checked first.

**Seriously?**

A smug chuckle erupted as he tapped out a quick teasing reply:

**> Yeah, but don’t feel left out big guy. The more the merrier. **

He was still smiling as he opened the next message.

**Do you trust me Jensen?**

Hmm. Strangely put question, but okay. When someone asks that, it’s a good reason to be suspicious. The answer however was as easy to say as breathing.

**> I do**

Misha’s reply followed quickly.

**Then if you want to see me tomorrow, I want you to follow some instructions.**

He frowned.

**> Ok. What?**

**Go to bed around 9 and confirm via text. Wait for me: no lights, no clothing. Just you.**

Huh, alright. He couldn’t think of anything else to reply with.

**> Ok…?**

**There are rules: 1. Do Not touch yourself or me   2. Do what I ask of you without delay 3. No talking, unless it’s to say either PLEASE or THANK YOU**

His frown was getting more pronounced as his brain started listing possibilities, without much success. It was curious, but nonetheless sounded reasonable.

**> Anything else?**

**If you want to stop, say so. But break the rules and I leave immediately. It will be a three strike policy.**

Yeah, like Misha would really just bail on him. Then again, he was good at keeping his word. And stubborn to boot.

He glared at his phone as he replied.

**> Should I be nervous?**

He didn’t know if he actually wanted to answer to that.

**Not if you trust me. And the rules start Now.**

 

O—kay. He really wasn’t sure how he felt about this. More than anything, he wasn’t good at not knowing, and only liked surprises if he was the one giving them.

**> What game are we playing M?**

**Jensen, the rules are in place. Do you want me to be there tomorrow?**

He narrowed his eyes. He could play along, for now.

**> Please**

The reply was instant.

**Thank you ;-)**

_Mish you freak,_ he mused fondly. Along with the warm excitement at seeing his… umm, ‘Misha’, there were arousing thoughts errantly stalking through his mind. This sounded decidedly like some sexcapade, and while he wasn’t at all averse to the idea, given that getting-off was so far more of a pleasant and interesting by-product of their ‘thing’ rather than a motivator in their relationship, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Although, he had learned some time ago that expectations and predictions were a largely wasted effort when it came to Misha Collins. He rolled to his stomach and closed his eyes, warmed by the knowledge the following night his bed would be shared by one tall-dark-and-handsome, unique and possibly-but-delightfully unhinged, unpredictable but ever loving and eminently huggable ‘co-thinger’ he was very much looking forward to getting his hands on.

His phone buzzed one more time. A grumbling “Mish I thought you said the ru—“ was interrupted when he reached and saw it was from Jared.

**No offense J, but you can keep him to yourself. I’ve seen fan art that’s ALL I need to know that ain’t ever gonna happen.**

‘Oh shit,’ he said to himself with a horrified groan. If that wasn’t a mood killer; he hadn’t thought about that.

Yeah their lives were all kinds of fucked-up sometimes.

 

 

******************

 

 

The next day was a standard one at work; busy enough there wasn’t a lot of down-time to dwell on speculation about the evening to come. Even so he was a little preoccupied, and something warm eddied in his stomach whenever he let his mind drift into daydreams that held snatches of smells, textures and flavors and to be honest, more often than not, variations on _snuggling_. Jared gave him a disparaging look at one point, catching him out and whipping his notes out of his hand and he sat to the side of the set. “What?” he’d asked as his friend made a show of leafing through the paper before handing it back.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t drawing little love-hearts with J plus M written inside.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” he said back in as withering a tone as he could summon.

Jared just looked at him with a shit-eating grin. “Smitten,” was all he said before patting him on the leg and wandering off.

Jensen slouched in his chair and let out a pithy growl as he tipped his head back. Now he really was going to be self-conscious when Misha was back at work.

He arrived home that evening having already eaten, poured himself a large whiskey, put some music on and lay on his couch, resting the glass on his stomach. A twelve hour day wasn’t unreasonable and although he was tired, now he was home he was wired with physical and emotional anticipation. He still hadn’t gotten completely accustomed to these feelings now that he’d let them take on a life of their own. And he hoped, in many ways, he never would be used to them.

After a while he checked the clock – 8.30 and he’d better make good on his ‘promise’. He got up, turned off all the lights as he made his way to the bathroom. One thorough shower later, he lowered the blackout blinds in the bedroom and picked up his cell to tap a short message.

**> Ok, ready.**

He didn’t know whether to expect a reply but he didn’t get one. He turned off the lamp and lay in the dark, aware of the cool sheets sliding over his increasingly sensitive skin. He was more than a little skeptical at what Misha was playing at. He was looking forward to seeing him, but he did not like being left in the dark – literally, as was the case right now. His preference was for calling the shots, definitely not for having his strings pulled, and it made him uncomfortable. Furthermore, he knew Misha _knew_ that, which at once made him more suspicious, as well as, conversely, comforted because he really _did_ trust Misha implicitly. Fuck, he needed to stop thinking, it wasn’t helping. ‘Hurry up Mish,’ he whispered out loud. More than anything he was simply craving his friend’s presence, skin to skin, breathing in the person with which he was so familiar and yet still felt new - although he wouldn’t say no to getting-off either before wrapping each other up for a good night’s sleep. It was another full day tomorrow and being all keyed up wasn’t exactly sensible. Fuck, since when did he start being so sensible? Sometimes he began to wonder if he’d gone straight from twenty-something to grandda—

The front door scraped open, snapping him out of his meandering thoughts. He drew in a sharp breath as his senses went on high alert. The click shut was followed by a pause before the refrigerator door opened and then subtle rustling and clattering. What the fuck was he _doing_? Another minute or so and there were muffled footsteps approaching down the hall. There was only a barest amount of light in the room from the dim glow of the clock, just enough to make out the vaguest outline of his friend entering the room. His eyes and ears strained as he tried to make out Misha’s movements; leaving something on the bedside, discarding clothing, and all in silence. ‘This is fucking silly,’ he thought. Were they seriously not going to say anything to each other? They may be renowned for their non-verbal communication but this was ridiculous.

The edge of the bed dipped near his thigh and he smelled Misha’s now familiar - and soothing - freshly-showered scent. It was stupid, but he swore he could hear his own heart beating. The sheet was dragged off him with deliberate slowness, leaving his skin prickling as it was exposed. His hands were resting flat on his stomach but Misha lightly picked them up one after the other and placed them at his sides, rubbing the inside of his wrists with a thumb as he did. Then he leaned over him and he felt a knee wedged between his, which he took as a request to relax the space between them. His friend straddled one of his legs as he walked his hands up each of Jensen’s sides so he was looming on all fours above him, his face only inches away with eyes he could just make out but not enough to see what they held.

Jensen thought he was going to be kissed and strained for it, but instead Misha lifted a hand, stroking a palm across his forehead and fingering through his hair, combing it before trailing fingertips down over the plane of his cheek to trace the outline of his mouth, then withdrew the touch altogether.

Jensen frowned when nothing followed. He needed more contact, and couldn’t help pushing his pelvis lower to find pressure where his friend’s knee leaned lightly against his groin.

“Ah-uh, still,” was the calm whisper from his companion.

 _Fuck, come on Mish_. he thought. He suddenly ached for the weight of his friend, lover, whatever… wanted the heat from him and his mouth on his own. He lifted a hand to pull Misha’s face to his, but froze as his palm reached his friend’s jaw and he hissed lightly.

“Strike one. No touching,” came another murmur.

He could have groaned, but was judicious enough to concede. He let his hand drop, and waited again, baffled.

Misha hovered over him for a few more moments before sitting back on his haunches over Jensen’s thigh. Then he lifted a hand to rake his fingernails haltingly over the curve of his right pectoral and continuing down along his sensitive side and hip, the combination of scrape and tickle making him shiver.

His companion uttered a light “hmm” and reached for the bedside table. He picked something up with a light clinking noise and leaned closer again.

Jensen’s arm twitched when sudden cold was placed against his wrist. Ice, he worked out after a momentary blank. Misha was trailing it languidly up the inside of his arm, holding it first to his elbow until the skin began to smart, then further up and across his collarbone to press it to the base of his throat, the water pooling there as it melted. Jensen tried to keep his breathing even as his friend repeated the process on the other arm, but this time he held the cube to his wrist before replacing the cold with his mouth, sucking out the numbness and lulling him a little even as his skin rippled in response. He did this again at the soft inner elbow and throat, licking at the cool water as it began to run down his neck. He was momentarily irked about the prospect of wet sheets but the thought was surpassed by the smell of Misha’s hair under his chin, Jensen using the slow intake of breath to capture it and calm himself. He still didn’t know what Misha was trying to do here, and his instinct wavered between luxuriating in it and throwing his friend off in defense.

Misha leaned back again and this time Jensen let out a shallow gasp as the cold was pressed firmly against a nipple. He was expecting it to be lifted after a few seconds, and when it wasn’t he started to hold his breath through the sting as it converted to numbness. Just when he felt himself frown the cold was replaced by hot tongue, the warmth flooding to the sensitive nib intensifying as it was ground between hard-pressed lips. He squirmed his shoulders slightly, hoping it wouldn’t offend his companion but not really caring if it did, on-edge as he was.

Misha merely sat back and as he reached for more ice Jensen tensed, trying to predict where on him would be the next target. He realized with surprise he was half-way hard already, and his cock twitching back in acknowledgement.

The next cool block touched down in the center of his chest and made an agonizingly slow course downwards, pausing to melt into his navel which earned a long tickling lick at the pool from Misha. The trail was resumed downwards but gratefully skirted to the side of his cock and carried on over his groin and inner thigh. He bucked and fought back a whine when the ice was lifted and abruptly took a swift pass up the length of his burgeoning erection before being ground gently against the slit.

When it was quickly followed by a brief firm flick from his friend’s hot tongue across the head he couldn’t help himself. “Fuck, Mish,” he strained involuntarily, aloud this time, simultaneously recoiling and craving so much more.

Misha sat unmoving for a few moments before another whisper. “Shh, strike two.”

 _Fuck, seriously?_ Jensen said to himself. His skin was crawling, in need of contact, anywhere and everywhere.

His friend shuffled back to twist behind and run the cold over the sole of his left foot, starting at the heel and sweeping through the arch, the sensation seeming to feed straight up his leg to his arousal before continuing, passing under his knee and causing a shiver as it ran over the delicate skin of his thigh. It didn’t stop, and Jensen held his breath as Misha drifted it over his ball sac and circled it repeatedly, only to let it out in a rush when his friend leaned down and sucked at the skin before taking it all at once in his mouth for a rolling massage.

He tried not to squirm and grasp for his friend’s hair as the delicious pressure fed warmth and need around his pelvis. His cock twitched again, feeling very much left out and letting him know by weeping precum and aching for something, anything.

Misha half turned again to reach for his other foot, and as the diminishing cube looped around the sole Jensen unthinkingly lifted a hand to lazily squeeze his cock in appeasement as it almost painfully thickened further at yet another shot of heat up his leg.

It was immediately batted away however. “Strike three,” said his companion sadly. “No touching, I’m sorry baby.”

Misha backed off the bed and stood up.

 _What? Seriously, are you for fucking real?_ Jensen thought. He could just make out Misha bending, picking up clothes and pulling on his t-shirt. _Shit, he is_.

Panic started to flood him. ‘No No No he couldn’t leave like this, he couldn’t be left like this, and did he just call me ‘baby’ ‘cause that plucked a string in him that somehow made him feel even worse-- Fuck, he’d do anything, he’d behave… Misha HAD to stay and nothing else mattered. The prospect didn’t make him angry or sad but it was intensely confusing and he realized with a sigh that verged on a sob he’d been almost obstinately defending himself this whole time, but against what? And what the fuck going on? What was wrong with him?

He sat up as his friend was pulling on his jeans. “Mish,” he said, contrite. “I’m sorry, one more, please.”

Misha stood there. “Please” he said again in a broken whisper. Jesus, he thought he might cry if he left. Or break something. Or just implode.

His friend didn’t move for at least a good ten seconds, which felt like ten minutes to Jensen. Then he heard a sigh and saw with relief his friend removing his attire again.

He lay back down and his breath hitched as Misha crawled over him again on all fours. ‘One, okay?” came the low whisper.

Jensen nodded. Misha raised a hand and ran a fingertip from his ear down his neck and across the front of his shoulders. “I know you want me to touch you.”

“Please,” Jensen said back, barely audible even to himself.

“Let go, and I will,” his friend returned softly. “Trust me, and I’ll take care of you.”

Misha slid his palm to rigidly hold Jensen’s jaw in place to the point it was almost uncomfortable. But by contrast when he leaned down the kiss he received was soft and sweet, the tension throughout his body ebbing away as he savored it; finally, _finally_ getting what he needed. He wanted to pour his feelings into it, but intuitively sensed Misha was trying to tell _him_ something, and that he should listen instead.

“Trust me, don’t fight me,” his friend urged again once he pulled back, adding offhandedly, “I don’t want to have to tie you up. And please, remember your manners.”

Jensen nodded again and closed his eyes. Fucking hell, the very word ‘tie’ made heat bloom behind his balls.

He wasn’t sure if he could do what Misha wanted, or even if he knew what it was. But his heart and his body ached for resolution, so he told himself to get a grip and concentrate on his friend rather than himself. He could just tell Misha to stop and forget it, according to the ‘rules’, and that he didn’t want to play whatever game this was. But the team cheering that side of the debate in his brain was losing to the parts of him – mostly located in his groin - arguing the case for the affirmative. A small spark flared suddenly; he wanted to see what happened next.

He felt Misha sit back and he opened his eyes again to see him reach for another ice cube. It made contact at his hip and crossed a diagonal course upwards to the opposite nipple before being firmly held there. Jensen relaxed against the brief sting this time as it turned dull in the unwavering contact. The heat that flooded into the nerves when Misha applied his mouth was sweet, cut through with a slice of pain as the tender skin was bitten, hard. He forced out his held breath; it hurt like fuck - he was fully conscious of that - but instinctively he pushed into it, drawing the throb in rather than resisting it.

His friend sat up and hummed. “More?” he offered.

Jensen drew in a sharp breath. “Please,” he said.

And he meant it.

The ice met his other nipple without any precursory journey, and as it was held there he felt a curtain coming down slowly in his mind, his thoughts muffled behind it. He gave his awareness up to the cold and began to crave the moment when it would be turned to sudden heat. When it was, and Misha’s teeth gripped him he arched up, the pain leaving him panting as his balls thudded and skin sang from head to toe.

Misha sat back again as Jensen caught his breath. He was pretty sure he could _feel_ Misha smile through the dark.

The numbing was repeated on his scrotum; one spot targeted before the cold out was sucked out in one long painfully firm but delicious draw, interrupted cruelly by the ice moving to his cock from root to head – repeating in a circuit along the underside and circling the glans. He could have laughed with relief but gasped instead when Misha drew him fully into his mouth, warmth flooding through him and outwards over his stomach. His neglected cock preened with the attention, and he bit his cheek from cursing out loud on its behalf when the enclosure it’s swirling tongue were withdrawn far too soon.

Cold was applied again but this time at the base to calm down his arousal. ‘Oh this is so not fair,’ he thought for a moment, but offense was quickly replaced with anticipation. He actually shivered with it, inviting it. ‘Please Misha.’ he said to himself, feeling like was balancing on a high wire, both wanting and trying not to fall.

This time Misha held a cube in his mouth, and Jensen started blanking out as he lay and sublime sucks and rolls of the tongue were issued to his testes, sinking into random flashes of cold and heat. Misha splayed his legs which he aided without question, before the cold was rubbed against his perineum. He held his breath, bearing down on it, waiting for relief and basking in the warm swipes of Misha’s tongue when it did.

He startled slightly when ice was slid to his anus, tracing small circles around the pucker. A stray thought at the back of his brain tried to tell him to clench and recoil but impulsively he pushed into it, the cold zinging round his entire ass and shooting a current to the base of his erection. It went on and on, and when he began to fear the warmth wouldn’t follow a strangled “Please” escaped his mouth followed by Misha’s tongue slamming against him. He whined and pushed against the pressure as his friend lapped at him, placating the smarting gathered skin, and he felt he could have died of happiness right then and there.

That was until Misha’s tongue dove inside and _holy fuck_ if that wasn’t the best thing ever. He depressed against the intrusion, willing it to increase until he almost felt nauseous, he was so heavy with arousal. He was oblivious to anything other than his friend’s god-sent tongue and his cock, abandoned and dripping, and he scrunched the sheet in balled fists to prevent himself from taking it in his hand and jacking it for the five seconds it would take to come right then.

Misha’s tongue kept spiraling and he let out a faint groan. “Please,” he begged again. He needed off this plateau. The height was dizzying him and he needed release so he could come down the other side. His friend’s head rose to lick the pooling liquid at the head and then take him inside in a long slow suck that was both perfect and torturous, before leaving him bereft again. Clearly Misha was trying to kill him.

He was barely aware of his friend sitting up until he heard the popping of a tube lid. A few moments later fingers were generously smearing liquid around his anus, over his balls and up his shaft and he exhaled with relief, anticipating he’d finally get a release. The massage continued and he shivered as his cock danced in Misha’s hand while fingertips rubbed back and forth over his perineum and circled his opening. He hummed aloud, he couldn’t help it.

He felt some light pressure and groaned as a fingertip pushed inside and he pushed his pelvis down when it retreated, chasing the lost violation. Rather than being on a knife edge like he was a few moments ago he felt relaxed, every tiny touch a mixture of arousing and soothing. “Please” came unbidden out of his mouth again. His friend obliged, caressing the ring before slowly pushing several digits in this time. Jensen shunted against them as they twisted and gently shoved, they felt so perfectly in place, although not enough to fill the growing hollow feeling inside him.

Misha withdrew them again, and Jensen waited, floating in anticipation. He was just starting to be aware of time passing when Misha reached for one of his hands to place it on his own cock.

“You can touch now… touch yourself for me, slowly,” he whispered gently.

Jensen obliged, aware he was being watched, but happily losing himself in the long slides of his slicked palm that finally gave him a focus for his stimulation. He let out a breath that turned into a low whine.

An approving hum came from his companion. “What do you say?” Misha murmured.

Fuck he was over stimulated. But the “Thank you,” he rasped out only made him want to stroke harder. His friend hummed again, and sounded a little desperate himself as he touched his own thick member. Jensen blearily watched him kneeling over his thigh, fisting his cock and gazing back with hungry eyes. It was a compelling sight and his breathing stuttered. An abrupt moan escaped him when his companion slid his free hand to his ass again, this time invading him with several digits without hesitation and his hips rocked down to meet them, his gasp being matched my Misha’s own.

His friend abandoned his stroking and dropped forward to support himself on his free arm. “Roll over,” he said roughly, withdrawing the insertion.

Jensen obeyed without thinking, tucking one arm underneath him. “Just there, on your side, and keep touching,” Misha finished in a strained whisper, before laying down behind him. They both instinctively curled against each other increase the skin to skin contact they’d obviously each needed. He felt the blunt head of his friend’s cock being slid slowly the length of his crack, and he tilted his pelvis back as it bulged against his entrance before pushing forward to fuck with deliberate leisure into his hand. He was aware of nothing other than the curious ebb of his own need despite the raw coursing of arousal in every fiber – he was completely lax. Another nudge was followed by invasion as Misha slickly entered him, barely at first with a slight pinch, but as he naturally rocked back to meet it his friend drove slowly but firmly home.

He instinctively breathed through it with a quiet guttural sigh. The _pressure_ that filled him was overwhelming, but he wafted with it as it pulled him further out of himself.

And then Misha moved, and everything changed.

The achingly slow thrusts inching deeper and deeper sent a message to fuck knows where and he blanked out again, conscious of only the space occupied inside of him and the pin-pointed current arcing from it. He swam through every sensation, entirely subject to he friend’s movements which had him feeling like he was strapped to the front of a freight train and there wasn’t anything he could do to change the course he was propelled along. Fingernails dig into the flesh at his hips as Misha struggled to hold his measured pace, and he tightened the grip on his cocooned cock that had somehow been relegated to second-fiddle.

He didn’t need more, he had everything, heat thronging blurrily, but a couple of shorter sharp thrusts and his orgasm suddenly crashed through him and out, like a prolonged booming roll of thunder, on and on and echoing in his own low shattered whine. One last wave pushed him clear as he was bitten hard in the muscle at his shoulder-blade amidst a stifled moan and shudder from his companion.

Passing out definitely seemed an option, he was so spent and stripped of himself.

He drifted in the receding tide until eventually Misha began to pull out, and if that wasn’t the freakiest fucking feeling he didn’t know what was; not unpleasant, just foreign and… prosaic. It jolted him back to some semblance of alertness, and it was only then he noticed the cooling come seeping into the sheets around his stomach. He lay there for a minute, listening to Misha’s breathing slow against his back.

He gathered his breath and decided to break the silence. “Am I allowed to talk now?” he whispered.

Misha puffed out a breath. “You can do da fuck you wan’ Jen,” he slurred.

“Move back then,” he asked.

His friend’s voice was dull with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he smiled back. “I just don’t want to sleep in the wet spot-- spots, so move, so I can roll over.”

Misha huffed again, and he felt him dutifully shuffle further to the other side of the bed. Jensen paused before he followed. Coming down from wherever they’d been began to hit him – not as a disappointment, but facing his friend suddenly seemed profound.

He felt fingers stroke expectantly down his spine, so he turned over and tried to find Misha’s eyes in front of him through the dark.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” came the whisper back.

They lay in silence for a while, facing each other but not touching. Jensen was wrung out, and felt oddly disconnected, although it eased when Misha eventually wriggled close enough to cautiously press a kiss to his hairline.

“I’m not going to break you know,” he said, sleepily.

He heard his friend let out a ragged sigh before he placed a hand on his hip, running it down the outside of his thigh and back up again a few times before squeezing it as he pulled forward to tuck his forehead against Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen let his mouth rest behind Misha’s ear, at home with the texture and the taste. The sudden tranquil nearness allowed him to collect himself a little and reflect. _So that was interesting_  he thought, wondering briefly just who he was in bed with.

“So, are you going to have me start calling you ‘lord and master’ or something in the bedroom now?” he asked hazily.               

Misha scoffed. “If I thought you believed it, maybe. I’m not master material…unless you want to call me the ‘wry-quip master’.”

Jensen snuffled in Misha's hair, soothing an itch on his nose. “Dunno ‘bout master…more like handmaiden to the master of wry quips," he said, then bent his head lower to draw some of Misha’s skin, sucking and rolling it gently between his teeth.

“You’re a dick Jensen,” was the creative rejoinder. So much for the quip master.

“And you’re a shithead,” he returned with equal but muffled boorishness.

“Fucker.”

“Umm, think that honor goes to you,” he deadpanned.

His friend didn't laugh. Misha drew in a large breath and stilled, but let it out coarsely when Jensen flicked his tongue upwards along the crease behind his ear. He thought he might at least get a witty retort, but instead he had a hand gripped tersely into the hair at the back of his head and his breath stolen in one sudden soft but very insistent kiss. He happily yielded his mouth to the slide of Misha’s tongue across his lower lip and invited it inside with his own, and if they hadn’t both been hearing the call of sleep it probably would have lasted a lot longer.

As it lost momentum Jensen withdrew with a parting nip of his friend’s top lip and tucked his forehead under Misha’s chin to press his mouth against the cooling sweat at his neck, the familiarity at once startling but serving to ease him from the long day, and somewhat eventful evening.

“Misha?” he asked eventually, the name humming in the contact.

“Hmm, that’s me,” his friend returned drowsily.

“Sometimes… you have a few names to choose from,” he said idly.

“Huhm,” his friend puffed softly. “What is it Jen?”

He’d been thinking about this and it bothered him he didn’t know the answer. “Would you really have left?”

There was a lengthy pause.

“I don’t know,” was the unsatisfactory response. “I was intending to, but I don’t know if I’d’ve gone through with it.”

“Hmmm.”

“Anyway, I didn’t,” Misha reassured after a pause, squeezing where his hand rested tracing lazy circles on the back on his thigh.

Another silence stretched out, and Jensen closed his eyes as he felt the edge of sleep moving closer.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, unsure of why he said it.

A soft chuckle followed from his companion, followed by lips gently pressed against his. “Well done,” was the whisper he heard as he drifted off into unconsciousness.

 

 

************************

 

 

Misha woke up with his usual abruptness. He’d never mastered the art of being in between sleep and wakefulness, unlike his bed-mate, whom he adored watching fight reluctantly through layers of sleep on the all too infrequent mornings they got to wake up together with leisure. Jensen Ackles really was the most beguiling creature he thought with a full heart, at no time more than when he was snuffling face down on the pillow right beside him. He still wondered what magical fuckery had transgressed to find himself in these moments. It felt too good to be true at times.

He looked at the clock and realized with reluctance he’d better conform to the day’s schedule. He never did find out Jensen’s call time but his own was tragically soon, so he dropped the lightest of kisses on his friend’s temple before rolling gently out of bed and padding to the bathroom for a shower. He was all but finished when he heard the glass door thud shut behind him and felt arms sliding around his waist from behind.

“Morning,” his friend mumbled, the word vibrating on the skin at the back of his neck.

He smiled and closed his eyes. “Good morning to you too,” he said softly, his skin reveling in being covered by that of the taller lean body behind him.

After a moment he wound his fingers through Jensen’s to unwrap his arms before turning around to look at him, all bed-hair and kissable lips. He slowly spun his friend to back him under the spray; showering with Jensen probably ranked only slightly below watching Jensen wake up, so he began to resent the morning arriving a little less.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, “I’m due at eight.”

“Yeah same ‘ere.” answered his friend, still sleepy enough let himself be maneuvered by Misha to wet his hair.

He grabbed a generous amount of shampoo, and Jensen tipped his head forward slightly so Misha could lather it for him. He pushed the excess suds down his friend’s neck and shoulders, lifting each arm to wash the wispy hair underneath. _This is one compliant Jensen,_ he thought as his friend stood there, slack and eyes closed.

He felt a stab of insecurity though when he ran more soapy bubbles down over Jensen’s hips and behind over his rear, his friend’s face making a wincing expression as his fingers traced the cleft.

“Are you okay?” he asked earnestly. “Did I hurt you?” He was suddenly mortified. He hadn’t gone into the plan of the evening before with the explicit intention of venturing into the territory they’d never really talked about, but both knew was available. But sanctioned or not, moving sheathed inside Jensen was beyond any expectation of mere gratification he’d had, and the sheer weight of love he’d felt for this man in the waking moments since surpassed anything he’d felt for him before, or any award-winning post-orgasm high for that matter. He felt physically in danger of drowning from it. And that scared him.

“Yeah ‘m fine,” his friend answered, eyes still shut. “It’s just kinda… weird. And sloppy.”

He smiled at Jensen’s expression and tentatively resumed washing his ass with both hands, massaging the cheeks before running several wet soapy fingers down the crack and up again, pressing lightly but further inside. His friend yielded to the touch, which had to be a good sign, so he carried on a slow attentive wash. It was the least he could do, and the gesture felt oddly sacred.

“I’m sorry,” he felt compelled to say.

Jensen opened one eye. “For what?” he asked in a cautious tone.

“Well we never seriously talked about when we might want to do, ya know,  _that._ And I didn’t mean to just spring it on you.”

“You didn’t?” his friend asked, opening both eyes.

“No.” he felt compelled at assert. “I was just trying a little dominance experiment on you to try and get you out of your goddamn head for a change, but you-- once you did let go, you just opened up like a flower - and a natural sub, I might add. And… well, I got lost in the temptation.”

Jensen was looking at him distractedly. “A flower huh?”

“Yes, my friend. Much like you are doing right now,” he said with a gentle smile. It was true; his slippery fingers were concentrating slower and closer to Jensen’s puckered ring, and rather than clenching he just softened in welcome.

Jensen leaned forward to rest his head on Misha’s shoulder with a slight groan. Misha inched forward to support him, molding their fronts together. They didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t help applying some pressure, slipping a fingertip inside.

His friend whined, and whispered an urgent muffled “Please,” against his neck, pushing back onto it. _Holy shit_ , he thought, withdrawing his finger. This is… fascinating.

He let out an ironic humph and pulled both hands back to rest on Jensen’s hip bones. “Jen, _you_ are fucking amazing, but we have to get going.”

Jensen let out a loud groan this time, lifting his head and hands to grab him at neck and jaw. He started to say his friend’s name but as he opened his mouth it was covered with Jensen’s, whose tongue plunged inside and curled and dived like he was going to hull him out. He couldn’t really do anything except go along with the onslaught.

Jensen abruptly pulled his mouth away and Misha tried to focus on him. The darkened green eyes were blazing. “Jesus Jen if I knew it was going to have this effect I would have tried fucking you ages ago,” he said breathlessly.

Jensen pushed him back wolfishly against the tiled wall. “Say that again,” he said in an incongruously calm tone.

Misha didn’t know whether to giggle or bend him over right there. “What, you want me to talk about _fucking_ you, Jensen?” he replied in a flat gravelly voice.

His friend smiled a smile he’d never seen before, and it sent an arousing flush down his back that scooted straight through to his cock. This was unexpected.

“Come on Mish, you’ve staked your claim on my ass, now you have to live up to it. It’s yours… always will be,” Jensen said with a tilt of his head, before locking in another bruising kiss.

Misha was genuinely dumbfounded. Not to mention outrageously fucking turned on. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed once Jensen finished his assault. _I’ve created a monster,_ he added flippantly to himself, gasping as his friend nosed in to lick and nip at the hollow under his jaw and up behind his ear while grinding a thigh against his growing hard-on.

Despite a tick of unease he reveled in the onslaught for a few moments, but then tried to organize his rapidly evaporating consciousness. “Jen, seriously, we have to get our shit together.” He pushed his friend off and walked him back under the rapidly cooling water, doing his best to ignore the heated but exposed look in his eyes. “Finish up while I put some coffee on,” he ordered, not sounding as authoritative as he wanted to, but he _was_ slightly compromised. He turned without waiting for an answer and left the shower before he could change his mind, or have it changed for him.

Ten minutes later and he was roughly dried, clothed and pouring a much needed caffeine fix when Jensen walked into the kitchen, wearing the most charming bashful expression. He tried to cover his smile by raising his mug for a sip as his friend poured one of his own.

“You okay? What happened back there?” he asked, honestly curious as to the answer.

“You and your mind-fucks,” Jensen answered without pause and only a slight scowl.

Misha snorted. “Yeah well you can pull the odd mind-fuck yourself, Ackles.” He fixed his friend with an intent stare. He really wanted to know what was going on behind those eyes. He was sure it would make an excellent dissertation.

Jensen turned around to mirror Misha’s leaning stance against the counter. “I dunno Mish,” he began. “I just feel—I woke up…”

“What Jen?” he prompted, when it was clear the rest of the sentence wasn’t forthcoming. Jensen looked at the floor, suddenly appearing painfully lost.

Misha felt a rush of concern and put down his cup, taking Jensen’s as well before slipping one hand into his friend’s hip and the other around behind his ear. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to try and catch Jensen’s stare with his own.

His friend’s eyes, however, were forgiving as the lifted to his and he spoke. “I’ve never felt that before Mish. Physically... but… emotionally, I can’t think of another time I’ve felt as vulnerable, as… _connected_ , as I do, to you, right now, and it-- it’s fuckin’ scary,” he finished emphatically, with an apologetic shrug.

Misha felt a combination of elated and guilty. _Jeez Jensen_ it occurred to him, _are you… in a drop?_ If so, _fuck;_ if he’d underestimated that response, it could make things… interesting. But at the same time, he was feeling somewhat disorientated too, so maybe it was just another shift occurring in their relationship. Or maybe both – last night was a little intense. He wasn’t exactly unscathed himself from what was supposed to be just experimental foray.

Stupidly, right when his brain should be doing its job, he couldn’t think of anything to say with his own emotions swirling around in a fog, but tried nonetheless to convey his feeling with his eyes. Jensen let out a short huffed breath and leaned forward to kiss him; this time with tenderness that - _no shit_ \- made him want to swoon. _Jesus, this… this man,_ he thought, wondering forlornly if there was any gods left he could pray to that would grant them the ability to ditch the day so he could drag his friend back to bed to worship every square inch of him. With numerous techniques. On multiple occasions.

Jensen pulled back and straightened up, terminating the moment while lacing his fingers through one of Misha’s hands and picking up his coffee again with the other. “So, I told Jared,” he volunteered.

Misha refocused, grabbing his half empty cup with his free hand. “Hmm? And how’d that go?” he asked as he emptied it. He gave Jensen’s hand a squeeze before gently letting it fall.

“I’m glad I did,” his friend said brightly. “But he was disappointingly blasé about it.”

“Ha! Yeah.... I’m sure he was more incredulous than he showed,” he reassured, letting out a small sigh at the loss of their anonymity as… _whatevers_. They were going to have to come up with some kind of definition for what they were one day, he supposed.

“He said he was already coming up with ways to tease you,” Jensen supplied with a smirk.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said back with liberal sarcasm, turning around to make for his shoes and the front door. He was going to have to run.

Jensen followed behind him, to see him out presumably.

“By the way, he also threatened grievous bodily harm against you if you weren’t nice to me,” his friend said, wiggling his brows. “So I won’t tell him about your evil plan you implemented last night.”

Misha laughed as he stood straight after shucking on his shoes but looked Jensen square in the eye. “So do I have your permission to make that plan an ongoing one?” he asked innocently.

Jensen just pursed his lips and shrugged, but the light in his eyes belied his nonchalance.

“Good,” he returned, “’cause while you let go significantly, I suspect you have a long way to evolve yet.” He moved in to run his fingernails up Jensen’s inner thigh and over his groin and side to cross sharply over where his nipple lay under his thin shirt, and was satisfied with a strained inhale from his friend.

He dropped an impersonal fleeting kiss on Jensen’s mouth before adding in a low voice at his ear, “Next time I’m bringing the knives. When they’re really sharp, there are rarely any scars.”

He turned and slipped through the door with a grin, hoping his friend managed to dislodge the look on his face before he turned up to work.

 

 

His cell buzzed when he reached the ground and he pulled it out of his pocket with a smile.

**Are you joking Collins, you kinky fuck.**

He chuckled.

**> Not telling.**

**> You should have known Ackles. Anyway you love it.**

The next text, however, nearly made him melt right there on the sidewalk. And, rather cunningly he had to admit, made it difficult for him to organize his own demeanor for his entry into the working day ahead.

**Not going to admit that. But I love you.**

 

 

*****FIN*****

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware Misha wasn't exactly 'on top' of things and left Jensen in a weird place. It was intentional.  
> A dollop of schmoop to end hopefully made up for it.
> 
> I really shot myself in the foot having No Talking Allowed.  
> Next time there will be more conversation, and in Misha's POV - his head is more fun to be in.
> 
> Thanks for reading! All feedback accepted with gratitude.


End file.
